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T.S.DENISON & COMPANY,l>ublishers,154W.RandolphSt.,Chlcaeo 



THE LADY OF THE 
OPERA HOUSE 

A PLAY IN ONE ACT 



BY 

FANNY CANNON 

AUTHOR OF 

Writing and Selling a Play,'' ''What's in a Name," "The 
Love Laggard," 

CO-AUTHOR 

' The Mark of the Beast, ' ' {Produced at the Princess, New York), 
' 'Meow! ' ' 




CHICAGO 

T. S. DENISON & COMPANY 

Publishers 



<5 <v 



^V 



THE professional acting rights of THE LADY 
OF THE Opera House, under whatever title 
performed, are fully protected by the author's 
playright and copyright, and all infringements of 
this playright and copyright will be prosecuted 
by the author to the full extent of the law. This 
in no way affects the rights of amateurs to give 
public performances without payment of royalty. 
Professionals must apply to the author, care of 
the Publishers. 



, Utik'^'/o'iiiv^ 



COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY FANNY CANNON. 
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY EBEN H. NORRIS. 




)CI,0M535G 
lOV -4 1916 



Dedicated to "Billy" 

THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 

CHARACTERS. 

William Hoagland (Billy) An Artist 

John Stebbins .A Millionaire 

Bertha Richards {Dicksie) An Artist 

Gladys Leslie ^ 

■Time — The Present. 

Place — New York City. 

Time of Playing — About Thirty Minutes. 




THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 



COSTUMES AND CHARACTERISTICS. 

Billy — A good looking young man of about twenty- 
five. His clothes show signs of wear. At beginning, 
wears a long soiled painting apron. 

DiCKSiE — She is a type of the clever, self-reliant, yet 
entirely feminine young woman worker of today. She 
plainly dressed. Costume covered with a long painting 
apron, cleaner than Billy's, and her sleeves covered with 
cotton overcuffs. 

Gladys — A handsome woman beautifully dressed. 
Jewels are at her throat and on her fingers. She carries 
her gloves. Her face is disguised by a white lace veil 
of heavy pattern, hanging from her hat. 

Stebbins — Middle-aged, well groomed and well fed. 



PROPERTY LIST. 

Dented tin tea-kettle of steaming water, canvas on 
easel, pallette, tubes of paint, half — or nearly used, 
brushes. Chipped cup and saucer — not mates, tea-spoon, 
battered tea-pot, small package with about a table-spoon- 
ful of tea, heel of a loaf of bread — enough for two 
slices, bread-knife, rumpled paper bag containing about 
a spoonful of granulated sugar; all for Billy. Fresh, 
new tube of paint for Dicksie, addressed and stamped 
envelope containing check, package (square) wrapped to 
look like a box of berries, package of salt, wrapped in a 
bag to look like pound of sugar. 

STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

R. means right of the stage; C, center; R. C, right 
center; L., left; upstage, away from footlights; down- 
stage, near footlights. The actor is supposed to be facing 
the audience. 



THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 



Scene — Billy's studio. It is poorly furnished, the only 
ornaments being a few sketches in oils and charcoal 
pinned to the zvalls. A zvindozv with practicable sashes 
is C. in flat. Outside is the railing of a fire-escape. To 
the R. of the windozv is a cheap calico curtain, back 
of zi/hich hang his fezv clothes. To the L. is another 
curtain, hiding his "kitchen." {Note: All that is nec- 
essary back of this curtain is a table on zvhich at the 
last moment a tea-kettle of boiling zvater is placed. It 
is used almost at once after the rise of the curtain.) 
At R. is the one entrance. Betzveen it and the foot- 
lights is a rickety dresser in zvhich Billy keeps his 
supplies. On it are one or tzvo cups and saucers, his 
tea-pot and sundry other dishes somezuhat the zuorse 
for zvear. Against the L. zaall is a couch or lozv sofa. 
A faded slumber robe is throzvn across it, folded up. 
Dozvn L. C. is an easel. A canvas is on the side of 
the easel azvay from the audience. Doziun R. C. is a 
kitchen table, zvith bread-knife, etc. 

At rise Billy is seated before the easel. At his right 
is a small stool or old chair zvithout a back, on luhich 
are his paints, etc. He has on a large painting apron, 
much bedaubed. His position places him facing the 
audience zvith the easel a little in front of him and 
turned slightly tozcard his left side. He is painting 
feverishly. With a satisfied sigh he sinks back in his 
chair, looking at his zvork. Lays dozen palette and 
brushes. Shuts his eyes, then passes his hand across 
his brozv, looking around the room as if dizzy and 
trying to collect himself. Then — 

Billy. 
{With a half laugh at his ozvn stupidity.) 
Guess Fm hungry. That's what's the matter. 

5 



6 THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 

(Gets up, takes off apron, ivhich he throws across chair. 
Goes over to the dresser and begins poking around for 
something to eat. Takes dozvn an old cup and saucer, 
not mates, gets his tea-pot. Starts looking for tea. Finds 
a packet with very little in it, carefully measures out a 
teaspoonful, puts it in the pot. Inserts a dingy strainer 
in the spout. Whistling under his breath, lie disappears 
behind curtain up L. and reappears zvith a dented tin 
tea-kettle with boiling icater in it. He stops as he passes 
the painting, starts to fix something on it, remembers the 
tea-kettle and continues on down to the table. Pours 
water into the tea-pot and puts the kettle down.) Now 
for some bread and butter. (He goes to the dresser. 
Finds only the heel of a loaf of bread— just about tzvo 
slices. He looks at it disconsolately, then, starting to 
zvhistle again, takes the bread knife zvith a flourish and 
triumphantly divides the bread into tzco slices. Puts them 
on the saucer of /rily cup.) Now the butter. (Goes up 
to the zuindozu, lifts the sash, puts his hand out and brings 
it in empty. Puts the zvindozv dozvn slozvly.) No butter. 
Must have eaten that yesterday. (Back to the table. 
Pours the tea into his cup. Gets a rumpled bag from the 
dresser. Squints into it, then shakes it out over the cup 
to extract the last grain of s^ugar. Stirs his tea. Comes 
back to the painting zvith cup and slices of bread. Sits 
down at the easel, takes a sip of tea, looking at the paint- 
ing. Takes up a brush and makes a touch at the canvas, 
then lays it dozvn to sip and munch, puts cup dozvn on 
chair beside him, and zvith a slice of bread in his left 
hand, bites at it zvhile making some fezv strokes on the 
painting. A knock at the door. He speaks zvith his mouth 
full.) Come in. 

Enter Dicksie. She is plainly dressed, her costume 
covered zvith a long painting apron, cleaner than Billv's, 
and her sleeves covered zvith cotton over-cuffs. She is 
a type of the clez'er, self-reliant, yet entirely feminine 
young zvotnan zvorker of today. Billy docs not turn 
around but keeps on zvith his zvork. 



THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 7 

DiCKSIE. 

{As she opens the door.) 

Greetings ! -^ 

^ Billy. 

{Over his shoulder, in a genial tone, not turning around.) 
Hello, Dicksie. Come in — come in. 

DiCKSIE. 

{Corning in, closing the door behind her, speaking as 
she does so.) 
I've brought back that tube of yellow ochre you lent 
me yesterday. {Holds out a full, fresh tube of paint.) 

Billy. 
{Turning and looking at it.) 

But, my dear girl, that's new. Tl^e one I lent you was 
nearly empty. ^^^^^^^^ 

Nearly empty! It was nearly full and I used about all 
of it. {Lays the tube dozen on his stool, laughing.) You 
are a good business man, aren't you ? 

Billy. 
{Smiles, then looks at his painting.) 
How d'you like it? ^^ 

UlCKSIE. 

{Coming up behind him, looking over his shoulder.) 

So you've finished your Madonna. {She studies it for 

a second.) It's good, Billy; good. And the face — I 

think it's the loveliest I ever saw. It fairly radiates 

sweetness and goodness, t, 

*= , Billy. 

You like it, then? I'd rather have your good opinion 

than 'most anybody's, t^ 

■' ^ Dicksie. 

{Turns away — a little bitterly.) 

I wonder why. I'm only a tuppenny illustrator. I had 

to swallow my ambitions when the wolf knocked at the 

door. Wish I'd had your courage to stick it out. 



8 THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 

Billy. 
Don't talk that way. You're clever — and — 

DiCKSIE. 

Never mind. I don't want to talk about me. What 
have you had for lunch ? {Sees the remains of his scant 
eating. Billy looks sheepish.) Billy Hoagland! I'm 
ashamed of you. Go out and get something to eat this 
minute ! 

Billy. 

Why should I ? I'm not hungry. ( J-Vith a melodra- 
matic zvave of his hand.) I've dined on a divine afflatus — 

DiCKSIE. 

Divine fiddlesticks! You need a beefsteak — and some 
boiled potatoes with — 

Billy. 
( Grandiloquently .) 
Out, material female! Why, if I filled up — 

DiCKSIE. 

{With a short laugh.) 
Filled up ! Yes, you're likely to. 

Billy. 

{With pretended sternness.) 
Don't interrupt — it isn't polite. I said if I filled up on 
such unwieldy stuff as steak, and potatoes, and eggs, 
and — and — strawberries — 

DiCKSIE. 

{Quickly, zuitJi sudden recollection.) 
You do like strawberries, don't you? 

Billy. 
{Waving the speech aside.) 
I'd be good for nothing. You see. I know myself. 
{With a majestic flourish.) I'm an artist, not a glutton! 



THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 9 

DiCKSIE. 

(Examining the remains of his lunch.) 
Well, Mr. Artist, / should say it would need seven- 
league boots to travel from dry bread and tea to glut- 
tony — and strawberries. (Turning away from him and 
walking a little right.) Some journey, believe me! 

Billy. 

(With a boyisJi change from his theatrical manner.) 
What — what did you say about strawberries? 

DiCKSIE. 

I said you liked 'em. 

Billy. 
(Enthusiastically, getting up and standing back from his 
painting.) 
You bet I do! Some day (coining center) I'm going to 
buy a whole crate, and two pounds of powdered sugar — 
and (ending xvith a triumphant flourish) eat 'em all my- 
self — everyone of 'em ! 

DiCKSIE. 

(Falling into his mood and pretending to wheedle.) 
Oh, Billy, won't you give me just a teeny, weeny one? 

Billy. 
(Positively.) 
No, madam, not one. (He has moved hack and is 
looking at the picture.) 

DiCKSIE. 

Then I hope they make you sick. 

Billy. 
Cat! Well, I tell you what I'll do. When I get that 
crate of strawberries — 

DiCKSIE. 

Yes. When — 

Billy. 
If you do something for me now — 



10 THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 

DiCKSIE. 

You'll give me one? Many thanks, kind sir. {Laugh- 
ing.) What do you want me to do? 

Billy. 
( Ingratiatingly . ) 
Just once more. I want to get the light on that hand. 
Do you mind? 

DiCKSIE. 

Not a bit. Shall I stand here ? (She takes her position 
about right-center of the stage, holding her left hand 
posed against her breast as if holding together some piece 
of drapery.) 

Billy. 

That's it. How quickly you get into the pose. {He 
begins to work rapidly, looking from painting to hand, 
and so on.) „ 

DiCKSIE. 

It's only the hand you want ? 

Billy. 
Yep. Just a few strokes. 

DiCKSIE. 

(Smiling at him.) 
Just like that. 

(There is a brief pause as he zvorks. Suddenly he 
turns and looks at her.) 

Billy. 

(AbriLptly.) 

I don't know, but sometimes you make me so mad I 
can't see straight. „ 

DiCKSIE. 

(With a surprised laugh.) 
Why? 

Billy. 
I don't know, but you do. You know, this isn't you 
I'm painting. 



THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 11 

DiCKSIE. 

(Still smiling.) 

Who said it was ? 

Billy. 

Well, it isn't. It's — well, it isn't you. (Dicksie smiles 
quietly. He zvorks a second, then suddenly.) But, hon- 
est injun, girl, I don't know what I should have done 
without you. (He goes on painting.) 

Dicksie. 
Models are a bit of a nuisance — and expensive. 

Billy. 
Yes. (He zvorks as he talks.) And they insist on talk- 
ing such idiotic drivel. 

Dicksie. 
(Teasing.) 
Do I talk drivel? 

Billy. 
No ! Besides, you're not a model — you're just a pal, 
and a mighty good one, too. 

Dicksie. 
Well, if it isn't my talk that makes you angry, what 

is it? -r, 

Billy. 

I don't know — it's the way you look, I guess. Every 
time you leave here, I begin to fight inside myself. I 
don't know why, but I do. 

Dicksie. 
What an uncomfortable feeling. 

Billy. 
Oh, it's not your fault. You're too comfortable to 
have around to make me feel otherwise. 

Dicksie. 

(Teasingly, as if she thought she knezv the reason for 
these conflicting feelings.) 



12 THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 

How do you ever straighten out the many ways I make 
you feel — I should think it would make you dizzy. 

Billy. 

{With a grin.) 
Sometimes it does. 

DiCKSIE. 

^ „ , (Happily.) 

Really ? 

Billy. 

(Nodding.) 
Hm-m. Just another minute, and I've finished. 

DiCKSIE. 

(Making up her mind to ask the question ) 
Billy! ^ 

Billy. 
(Painting. ) > 

DiCKSIE. 

You know, you promised to tell me how you came to 
start that picture; Can't you tell me now, while I'm 
standing here? I'm in a listening mood. 

Billy. 
Good! That doesn't happen often. 

DiCKSIE. 

(Suiiliiig.) 
Now, don't be impertinent. 

Billy. 
(Laughs.) 
^ Well, I'll tell it to you— but, you know, I don't think 

I'd know how to tell it to anybody else — because it's 

(takes a fresh start, speaking more easily as he szvings 
into the story). One night — last winter — I was caught 
in a sudden rainstorm on Broadway and stopped under 



THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE . 13 

the portico of the MetropoHtan Opera House. The audi- 
ence was coming out and there was such a crowd that I 
was forced to stand near the curb. A woman came out 
and hurried to a big automobile. She made my heart 
jump, I can tell you — {he has forgotten Dicksie for a 
moment. She contracts her brows as if ivith pain at the 
sudden forced change in her thought) because I thought 
— I thought she paused for a moment and looked into 
my face. And her eyes were sorrowful. She was a 
vision under the lights. But it wasn't that. You see, 
she was like — strangely like — some one I — for whom I — 
care very much. (There is a pause. He covers his eyes 
luith his left hand.) 

Dicksie. 
{Shozvs the stab she has received as she speaks with 
difficulty.) 
Someone you loved? 

Billy. 
{Too engrossed in his memories to notice her tone.) 
Yes. 

Dicksie. 

{Softly, painfidly.) 
So that is why — you've never married. I've wondered, 
sometimes. You seem the sort of a man who would — 
who ought to — 

Billy. 

{Half bitterly, looking around his room.) 

Marry! Why? What have I to offer a woman? 

(Dicksie starts to interrupt. He looks at the picture.) 

She was beautiful and good. But how could she stand 

such a life? It was not fair to ask it. 

Dicksie. 
{Hiding from him a sadly contemptuous little smile.) 
If she had loved you, Billy — 



14 THE LADY OF THE OP£RA HOUSE 

Billy. 
(Winces, but speaks bravely, loyally.) 
She was all right. (He makes a stroke lanth his brush 
on the canvas. Dicksie closes her eyes as if in pain.) 

DiCKSIE, 

(Painfully.) 
Where is she? 

Billy. 
She is a governess in a small place on Long Island. I 
don't think she gets much of a salary' — but there she is, 
slaving and waiting for me. I hate to think of her strug- 
gHng along, and yet — you can't think what an inspiration 
it is to know she is waiting for me. You see, she believes 
in me. 

Dicksie. 
{Interrupting softly.) 
Aren't there others who believe in you? 

Billy. 
(Unconscious of hurting her.) 
But it's such a difference — others believing and her 
belief. (Dicksie ivinces.) Just believing in you is one 
thing. But she works, and waits, and loves! That's 
what makes all the difference. That's what the others 
don't give. 

Dicksie. 
They — they don't? 

Billy. 
No. They just tell you they like your work, and that 
some day you'll do something big, and — and then they 
ask if it doesn't cramp your thumb to hold the palette 
that way. (Dicksie starts to speak, but Billy continues. 
He finishes his work, laying doivn brushes, etc. Dicksie 
begins to move about the room, half mechanically 
straightening things, ahvays keeping her face turned from 
him.) I wrote to her about seeing this woman at the 



THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 15 

Opera House. She wrote me such a wonderful letter 
about it, and this picture, and then she pretended to be 
jealous. Why, jealousy is impossible — we love each 
other ! t. 

DiCKSIE. 

{Half whispers as she shifts some things on the dresser.) 

Yes. 

Billy, 

You see, I haven't seen her in a year and a half. She 
can't come here, and she won't let me come to her — for 
fear of her people there not liking it, you know. I just 
write to her — general delivery — (more happily). But — ■ 
if I sell this — I'm to see her when I sell my first big paint- 
ing — maybe this is it — and that will be our formal en- 
gagement. 

DiCKSIE, 

{Under her breath.) 
Your engagement ! 

Billy. 
(His happiness at the idea makes him blind to everything 

else.) 
Yes — oh, it'll be very formal, sort of a — Thanksgiving 
meeting, you know. I'm going to kneel, like this (Jie gets 
down on one knee), take her hand, make a bee-yoo-tiful 
speech in words of five syllables each — (getting up and 
laughing at his ozvn nonsense) and then I'm going to — 
(a postman's ivhistle is heard and a distant bell.) 

DiCKSIE. 

(Glad of a relief in the tension.) 
There's a letter for me — the bell rang in my rooms. 
(She exits hastily, closing the door after her. Billy 
takes his painting apron and hangs it up on a hook back 
of the calico curtain.) 

Voice. 
(Outside. Negro dialect.) 
Mr Hoagland! 



16 THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 

Billy. 
{Calling.) 
Yes, Joe. 

Voice. 

Gemmen down here — wants to see you. 

Billy. 
{In consternation.) 
It's the rent. {Raising his Z'oice.) All right, Joe ; I'm 
coming. {He dashes out, leaving the door open.) 

DiCKSIE. 

{After brief pause, calling from across tlie hall.) 
Billy! 0-oh, Billy! {She comes in quickly with a letter 

in her hand, looks around.) Why, where can he h.ave 

gone? Billy! {Turns to leave hurriedly.) 

DiCKSiE collides with Gladys Leslie, zvho enters. 

Gladys is a handsome zvoman, beautifully dressed. 

Jezuels are at her throat and on her fingers. She carries 

her gloves. Her face is disguised by a zvhite lace veil 

of heavy pattern, hanging from her hat. 

Gladys. 
I'm looking for Mr. Hoagland's apartment. William 
Hoagland. I was directed here. 

DiCKSIE. 

Yes, this is right. He lives here. 

T , , Gladys. 

Is he at home. 

DiCKSIE. 

I think so — he ivas, a little while ago. I wanted — to 
show him an important letter — the door was open, but he 
seems to have left— I suppose only for a few minutes. 

Gladys. 

{Studying Dicksie through her veil.) 

Oh, I see. I must have missed him in the hall. 



THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 17 

DiCKSIE. 

There's a back stairway. He must have used that. 

Gladys. 

(Meaningly.) 
Are you Mrs. Hoagland? 

DiCKSIE. 

{Uncomfortably.) 
No; I'm just another artist, hke himself — that is — 
{laughing a little) I'm not hke him — I only do illus- 
trating — my workshop is across the hall. [She starts 
to go.) 

Gladys. 
(Whose curiosity is aroused.) 
Don't g-o, please. Tell me something of Mr. Hoagland. 
Is he well ? 

DiCKSIE. 

I believe so. You know him? 

Gladys. 
Yes — that is — I used to know him. He paints rather 
well, doesn't he? 

DiCKSIE. 

Yes, indeed. That's his latest work. (Points to the 
easel. ) 

Gl.\dys. 
(Going to it.) 
So this is it! 

DiCKSIE. 

(Startled.) 
Why? Had you heard of it? 

Gladys. 
Yes — that is — yes, I heard of it — recently — from 
friends. 



18 THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 

DiCKSIE. 

(Pleased.) 
Oh — then they told you at Arnot's. 

Gladys. 
Arnot? I don't think I've heard of him. 

DiCKSIE. 

(Disappointed.) 
Oh, I thought — he's the big art dealer, you know. 

Gladys. 
Oh, yes; I remember. (She studies the painting.) 

DiCKSIE. 

(Referring to the picture.) 
Isn't it wonderful ? Yesterday I had Arnot's big man 
here — Mr. Caldwell himself — when Mr. Hoagland was 
out, and he said so. He told me to be sure and let him 
know when it was finished. But see (holding up letter), 
he evidently was afraid to wait, because today he's mailed 
me a check to pay for it. 

Gladys. 

(Suspiciously.) 
Why should he send Mr. Hoagland's checks to you? 

DiCKSIE. 

(0)1 guard, straightening up.) 
He had some other matter of business to arrange with 
me — it may have been unbusinesslike — but he's never met 
Mr. Hoagland, and he was writing to me anyway — so he 
probably looked on me as the agent selling the picture — 
I suppose that was it. (She haughtily lays tlie letter on 
table right.) 

Gladys. 
(Looking again at the picture.) 
We — that is, I'm thinking of buying it myself. 



THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 19 

DiCKSIE. 

Oh, if it's bought, I don't suppose it matters who buys 
it — if your husband is interested — 

Gladys. 
{Surprised.) 
My husband! (Recovering herself.) Oh, yes — my 
husband will like it — if I say it's good. {SJie lifts the 
veil to look at the picture more easily.) 

DiCKSIE. 

(Looks at her keenly/ then, startled, exclaims.) 
Oh — why — you're the original — his Lady of the Opera 
House ! 

Gladys. 
(Equally startled, turns quickly.) 
What ! The Opera House ! Why— I— 

DiCKSIE. 

Oh, of course you wouldn't know — he saw you — one 
night — then started to paint this. 

Gladys. 
(Recovering herself.) 
Oh, yes, I remember — I saw him on the pavement. 
(Bites her lip in annoyance at her slip.) 

DiCKSIE. 

Why, did you know him? I didn't imagine — he didn't 
know you. 

Gladys. 
(Annoyed.) 
No, no; of course not. 

DiCKSIE. 

(Persisting.) 
But then, you said, when you first came in, that you 
did know him — 



20 THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 

Gladys. 
{Trying to cover up her mistake and lying.) 
Yes, in a way. It was sometime ago. But when he 
painted this he wrote me telHng me of it and suggesting 
that — we — I might be interested and wish to buy it. 

DiCKSIE. 

{Pu:;ded.) 
He wrote — to you- — to buy it ! I don't understand. He 
did not know the woman he saw at the Opera House — 
how could he — 

Gladys. 
(Sharply.) 
I don't know that it's any of your business. What 
right have you to question me or my being here? 

DiCKSIE. 

No, of course not. It seemed strange, that's all — 
because he wrote — 

Gladys. 
(More sharply.) 
Never mind. My business is with Billy — Mr. Hoag- 
land — not with you. (She turns back to the painting.) 

DiCKSIE. 

(A light dawning on her. Half to herself.) 
Billy! 

Gladys. 

( Turns. ) 
What? 

DiCKSIE. 

(Slozvly.) 
Nothing — I was think — (suddenly, because she knoivs 
the truth) you may be able to induce him to sell — but 
there is still — (she stops and listens) Wait. I think I 
hear someone coming up. I'll leave you to talk to him. 
(Turns to leave hurriedly.) 



/ 
■ THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 21 

DiCKSiE runs into John Stebbins, who enters. He is 
well groomed, zvell fed, self-satisfied, middle-aged. 

DiCKSIE. 

Oh, I beg your pardon. 

Stebbins. 
{With an appraising look at her.) 
Don't mention it. {Looking past her at the painting.) 
Picture of you? 

DiCKSIE. 

{Startled, looks hack at the painting.) 
Of me ? Oh, no ! 

Stebbins. 
No? It's got your eyes, all right. 

Gladys. 

(Sharply.) 
John! (DiCKSIE exits hurriedly.) Was it necessary 
for you to come up. I thought we decided — 

Stebbins. 
{Looking at the picture.) 
Yep. It's got her eyes, sure thing! 
Gladys. 
{Still more sharply.) 
Whose? That's the picture we came to look at. It's 
meant to be me! 

Stebbins. 
{Surprised.) 
So it is! Gee! That's funny. 

Gladys.. 
{Looking searchi<ngly at the painting.) 
And they're not her eyes either. 

Stebbins. 
Ain't they? 



22 THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 

Gladys. 
No. He meant it for me. He said so. 

Stebbins. 
Oh, if he said so, he ought to know. 

Gladys. 
{Looking at it again, zvith a long breath.) 
It's beautiful! I think — I used to look like that. 

Stebbins. 
Gee ! There's vanity for you. How do you know ? 
Artists always idealize, don't they? Something lacking 
in it, though. I know — it's those damn loose clothes like 
a lot of rags. , I'll get him to change it. 

Gladys. 
{Sharply.) 
Change it. What for? 

Stebbins. 
Because the clothes ain't pretty. It's my money, ain't 
it, and I'm gonner buy it, ain't I ? 

Gladys. 
What are you going to offer him? 

Stebbins. 
Well, by the looks of things around here, I should 
think he'd accept almost anything. 

Gladys. 

{Snappishly.) 
That's like you ! You'll pay him what it's worth — not 
a penny less. You're buying a picture, not giving charity. 

Stebbins. 
You can pay what you like. I won't give a cent over 
fifty dollars. 



THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 23 

Gladys. 
{Contemptuously.) 
Fifty dollars! 

Stebbins. 
Just that. Anything over — well, you can deprive 
yourself. It comes out of your allowance. You can do 
as you like. {He turns angrily to leave and runs into 
Billy in the doorway. Stebbins glares at him, then 
turns to Gladys.) I'll leave your car waiting for you. 
I'm gonner walk home. {Exits angrily.) 

At Billy's entrance Gladys drops her veil so that it 
conceals the side of her face tozvard Billy. She turns 
her back to him and gazes as if absorbed at the painting. 
Billy looks after Stebbins in amazement, then turns 
center. Sees Gladys. 

Billy. 
{Startled.) 
Oh — I — didn't know there was anyone here. 

Gladys. 

(Not turning, speaking zvith slightly muffled voice.) 

1 came to look at — the painting. I had thought of 

buying it. t^ 

•^ ^ Billy. 

{Pleased surprise.) 

You had heard of it, then? 

Gladys. 
{Hesitatingly.) 
Yes. You see — I — was the woman you saw — in front 
of the Opera House. 

Billy. 
{Amaced.) 
You! How wonderful! 

Gladys. 
{Softly.) 
Do you think so? 



24 THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 

Billy. 
{Not heeding.) 
But it is even more wonderful — that you should have 
known of me — and the painting — it's very strange — 
{zvith a half laugh) like magic. 

Gladys. 
{Still not letting him see her face.) 
Yes. 

Billy. 

Yes — because, you see — I never told it to but one per- 
son, and that was today, not three minutes before you 
came — to a girl who is an artist, too — across the hall. 
(Gladys looks at him sharply, then turns back to the 
picture again.) So you see how startling it is. Though 
I did zvrite it — to someone — but she wouldn't tell. 

Gladys. 
{Careful to hide her face.) 
No? 

Billy. 
She is the real original of that picture. 

Gladys. , 

Oh! 

Billy. 

{As he gets interested in his story he almost forgets his 

company.) 

Yes. You looked like her that night — and it gave me 
my inspiration. Selling this picture will mean so much. 
You see, we couldn't afford to marry, because — well, she 
thought it best. It's been so long — I'm getting hungry 
for a sight of her, and now — it's wonderful to think 
of her, waiting for me, because she's so — different. 
(Gladys, deeply moved, turns toivard the windozv and 
stands nnth her back to the room. Billy crosses to the 
picture.) How I wished, as I saw you in the rain that 



THE LADY OP THE OPERA HOUSE 25 

night, that I could see her dressed hke that — and h.appy ! 
{Pie holds out his arms to the painting, then lets them 
drop.) 

Gladys. 
{Unable to endure any more, her voice breaking.)^ 
Would you — would you? 

Billy. 
{Turns quickly, then stands stunned as he recognizes 

her.) 
Gladys! {Joyously he holds out his arms. As she 
comes to him he holds her close. Then, drawing back 
a little, takes her face betzvceti his hands.) My darling! 

Gladys. 
{Pier arms around his neck.) 
Billy! Billy-boy! 

Billy. 
{Drazving her back into his arms and laughing happily.) 
So you were jealous after all. Or are you just curious 
to see your picture — or me? 

Gladys. 
Perhaps it was all three. 

Billy. 
{Giving her a hug.) 
It's good to have you here — it's been a long wait — 

Gladys. 
I know. 

Billy. 
But here you are — in my studio at last! {He releases 
her to take both her hands zvith both of his, sitnnging 
them as children do. He looks only into her face, not 
at her dress or jezvels.) Oh, it's almost too good to be 
true! 



26 THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 

Gladys. 
\ {Laughing.) 

Oh, no ; I'm flesh and blood. See ? Feel ! {She shakes 
the hands she holds.) I'm quite alive, I assure you. {She 
speaks happily, a little excited.) And I'm glad I am — 
glad to be here — with this {still holding his left hand, 
she crosses in front of him to the easel, dropping it as 
she faces the picture zvith her hack to him, instantly 
putting her right hand behind her to take his hand again.) 
It's so splendid, so big, so worth while. {With the re- 
moval of his eyes from her face, Billy has opportunity 
to remember things, her general appearance, etc. As she 
goes on speaking, the joy goes from his manner, the light 
from his eyes. He grows tense, rigid.) Billy-boy! What 
a wonderful piece of work you've done! And to think 
that you haz'e done it ! I always knew you could ; I knew 
it wouldn't be long. {His silence, his lack of response, 
make her turn.) Why, Billy! 

Billy. 
{Faces her tensely, obi/iously trying to control his rising 
excitement, gasing in accusing horror, first at her 
jewels, ivhich she instinctively tries to cover 
zvith her hands, and then at her costume, 
zvhile she zvaits terrified at his mean- 
ing. He speaks in a lozv, tense 
tone as he points to the door.) 

Who is that man ? 

Gladys. 
{Startled.) 
. Wh-what? 

Billy. 
Who is that man? I found you here with him. 

Gladys. 
{A little frightened and trying to soothe him.) 
Why, Billy, I never saw you quite like this be — 



THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 27 

Billy. 
That man! You were — with him! He said — (he al- 
most chokes) he said he'd leave your car waiting. Your 
car ! On the salary of a governess ! A governess ! And 
I believed you! (His tone is heart-broken.) I believed 
you! 

Gladys. 
Billy-boy ! 

Billy. 
(Outraged.) 

Don't ! Don't call me that ! That was her name for 
me — the woman I loved — who was waiting — and — then 
— it was not for me — ^but for him — in her automobile. 
(With a sudden morement he seices her left hand, almost 
roughly, and searches among its many rings. Then, zvith 
an equally quick gesture, throws the hand from him in 
disgust.) Where's your wedding ring? Why don't you 
wear it? Or have you ever had one? 

Gladys. 
(Shrinking hack.) 



I- 



Billy. 



Gladys! You! (He sinks into the chair right, putting 
his hands to Jiis head as if it ached.) 

Gladys. 
(With a touch of real sympathy holds out her hand as if 
to touch him, then lets it drop.) 
Won't you — 

Billy. 

(Lifts his face as the next idea comes to hiju, then rises.) 

And that night — that night last winter — in front of 
the Opera House — that was you — yourself — no chance 
resemblance ! And that was months ago ! My God ! My 
God ! (He half staggers and leans against the table right.) 



28 THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 

Gladys. 
{Trying to calm him, moves nearer.) 
But Billy— 

Billy. 
{Facing her, holding out his left arm accusingly, pointing 
at her gown, her jezvels.) 
And those — and those — where did you get them? 
Where ? Answer me ! 

Gladys. 
Billy — please — 

Billy. 
On the income of a governess! Did you think you 
could make me believe that, as I believed the rest? Did 
you? What was it all for? Why were you doing it? 
Why did you keep on with me? Why? 

Gladys. 

I loved you, and — 

Billy. 

{With stinging scorn.) 

Loved tne! Is that what you're trying to say? Don't 

lie. (Gladys shrinks from his fierceness.) It's too late 

for that now. You never knew what the word meant. 

And I thought — I hoped — {he breaks down). How could 

you do it? How could you? And I thought so often of 

the day when you could come here — never doubting — 

never dreaming — and then you came — like this. Why — 

why did you come? ^ 

•^ -^ Gladys. 

Because I wanted to help — 

Billy. 

{A bitter laugh.) 
You wanted to help — when you were the dream of my 
life — all my hopes — why didn't you stay a dream ? But; — 
now — 

Gladys. 
I'm sorry — 



THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 29 

Billy. 
Sorry ! And what do you think you've done to me ? 
Oh, what a fool I've been — what a fool ! Living on 
your letters — {his thoughts take another turn, his tone 
changes) General delivery! No wonder! And I wasn't 
to come to you because the people you were with might 
misunderstand, and your reputation suffer! Your repu- 
tation ! God ! And you were waiting and working — and 
working — forme! For w^/ Isn't it funny? Isn't it? Why 
don't you laugh ? Or have you been laughing all the time 
— at me? Laughing in your sleeves at the fool who be- 
lieved in you, and was hoping and waiting. What a joke 
it must have seemed — that letter I wrote about the Opera 
House, and the woman I saw — when you knew — all the 
time you knew — {he breaks dozvn for an instant). 

Gladys. 
{Taking advantage of the pause.) 
Ah, if you knew how that letter hurt me ! I recognized 
you that night — I wanted to speak, but I couldn't. I 
wrote — you remember? 

Billy. 
Oh, I remember. I wonder that you want me to. I 
was to think of you always as you used to be. You were 
jealous of the woman in her beautiful clothes! You! 
Jealous! {A short laugh, then changing to sternness.) 
And you dared to come here, with your — {he chokes^) 
to buy it — the picture! The picture! {Wildly.) That's 
the biggest joke of all! Look at it! Look at it! It's like 
you, isn't it? {Terrified at his manner, Gladys gives a 
frightened look at the easel.) Like you! That's a libel! 
{He moves quickly toivard it. Gladys fears he is coming 
tozvard her and shrinks back.) 

Gladys. 
{Frightened.) 
Billy ! 



30 THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 

Billy. 
{With a scornful laugh.) 
Don't be afraid! You're not worth the effort! {With 
increasing hittcrness\.) I'm not sure I can't find it in my 
heart to be sorry for that other poor idiot you're fooHng 
and tricking — as you tricked me ! You brought him here 
— to spend his money — on me ! God ! What are you ? 
Haven't you even a shred of ordinary decency? Isn't it 
in you to see zvhat you've done — or did you expect to 
fool us both in the end? 

Gladys. 

{Knowing her life is safe, sJioivs in her true colors. She 

comes dozvn betiueen Billy and the door, her voice 

rising shrewishly.) 

How dare you! How dare you talk to me like that? 
What right have you to expect to hold a woman? You! 
You never earned a dollar and you never will! And 
you talk to me as if I were dirt ! Well, I'm not. And to 
wait for you, with your dreams, and your paints, and 
this — {With a comprehensive gesture of disdain around 
the room.) Well, no man has a right to ask it — or be 
disappointed when he doesn't get it. 

Billy. 
{Controlling himself zvith an effort.) 
Will — you — please — go ! 

Gladys. 

{During this speech sees the envelope on the table and 

picks it up.) 

No. I won't till I've had my say. Who are you, to sit 
in judgment, anyway — you, with your garret — and your 
morals — {she reads the address sneeringly) Miss Bertna 
Richards ! The girl across the hall, to whom you tell your 
secrets. {SJic comes fonvard zvith it still in her hand. 
As she snaps it, a check slips out. She stoops and picks 



THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 31 

it up so that it can be plainly seen, then slips it hack into 
the envelope.) 

DicKSiE enters zvith tivo small bundles. She has taken 
off her apron. The others do not see her. She pauses 
at right of Gladys, then crosses to the zvindoiv, back, and 
waits, placing her packages there. 

Billy. 
{His nerves at the breaking point, though still under 
control.) 
Will you please go ! 

Gladys. 
{More shrewishly, flicking the envelope.) 
Your morals! Ha! Well, she won't let you starve, 
anyway! {She tosses it tozvard him so that it falls about 
center.) 

Billy. 
{Furious.) 
Go! Go! Will you go — at once? {Covering his eyes, 
he turns from her so that he is facing the picture.) 

Gladys. 
{A little alarmed at the storm she has raised, turns 
toward the door, speaking over her shotdder.) 
All right. No need to get excited. Perhaps it's just 
as well we found each other out. 

Billy. 
{At her last zvords he has uncovered his eyes and looks 
at the painting.) 
My Madonna! {The thought seems to rouse him to 
fury.) And you! You — ! The original, the inspiration 
for my painting! {With a hitter laugh, his arms lifted 
high above his head.) My God! {Beside himself.) No! 
No! It's a crime! (He turns *swiftly, moving very 
quickly to the table, whence he picks up the bread-knife.) 
It's a crime! It's a crime! {With the uncertainty of his 
intention, Gladys shrinks back terrified, backing out of 



32 THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 

the door, zvith a little cry of fear, her eyes fixed on his 
movements. Exits. Dicksie puts out her hand as if in 
fear of what he means to do, to stop him. With Gladys^ 
exit he turns to the painting. As he lifts his arm to 
slash it, Dicksie comes quickly down to his right.) 

Dicksie. 
(With sharp insistence.) 



Billy! 



Dicksie ! 



Billy. 
(Startled, turns.) 



Dicksie. 
Are you mad? That picture is sold — you have no 
right — 

Billy. 
Sold! (He drops the knife.) 

Dicksie. 
(Stooping and picking up the envelope, she quickly 
extracts the check.) 
It's payable to you. 

Billy. 
(Taking it, reads it.) 
Fifteen hundred! (He passes his hand over his fore- 
head, too hewildered in his condition to fully under- 
stand.) 

Dicksie. 
(Laying her hand on his arm, speaking gently.) 
I had Arnot's man, Caldwell, here yesterday — this was 
to be a surprise. Billy, dear, don't you see, it's your 
beginning ? 

Billy. 

(Still trying to grasp the idea.) 

Sold! Fifteen hundred dollars! (He turns his eyes 

from Dicksie to the painting. The sight of it reminds 

him.) Never! It's a sacrilege — my Madonna and that 



THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE . Z2> 

woman's face — I'd rather starve! {He clutches at the 
check as if to tear it.), 

DiCKSIE. 

(Laying her hand on his to stop him.) 
Billy! Look at it carefully. Are you — so sure? Does 
it really look like her? 

Billy. 
Why, it was her face gave me the inspiration. The 
sorrow in her eyes when she h.alf turned to me that night 
— the— 

DiCKSIE. 

(Itisisting.) 
But does it look like her? (Billy goes to the easel. 
Knotving zvhat the moment means to her, Dicksie uncon- 
sciously lays her hand on her breast, in the pose she used 
earlier in the act, and stands zvaiting.) 

Billy. 
Why. of course, it's she — she looked — (he starts, looks 
more closely at the picture.) Why, look! Look! It isn't! 
That painting doesn't look like her, with, her hard face 
and painted lips! (He turns to Dicksie, pointing out 
through the door as he does so, zvhcn he notes her pose. 
He drops his arm, with a sudden thought, gases at her 
intently, then hack at the picture, his astonishment grow- 
ing into pleasure.) Look, Dicksie, look! Look at the 
hand, the eyes — they're yours — and the soul shining 
through ! It's yours, girl, yours ! I've been painting you, 
you all the time. Oh, what a fool I've been! (He 
speaks more softly, zvonder and joy at the situation mak- 
ing his^mice very tender.) No wonder I fought inside 
myself when you were gone! It was the truth I was 
fighting and I didn't know it. I couldn't see it. But 
now — I know — I know! (Dicksie's emotion is apparent. 
On the verge of happy tears, she turns to the windozv 
zvJiere she has put the packages. Billy zvatches her as 
he slips the check into his pocket.) I love you! I've 



34 THE LADY OF THE OPERA HOUSE 

been painting you! {His voice breaks as zvith the pack- 
ages she turns to him.) My Madonna! Why, you — 
you've given me everything, dear, everything. Sympathy, 
help, inspiration — 

DiCKSIE. 

(Bctzveeii sobs and laughter.) 
And now — now I'm going to give you your strawber- 
ries. (Hands one package.) 

Billy. 
Dicksie! (As he takes her quickly in his arms, holding 
the berries in his left hand, the other package she holds 
burst and powdered sugar"^ pours to the floor.) 

Dicksie. 
(With pretended reproach.) 
Billy ! 

Billy. 
(As he laughs happily.) 
And powdered sugar! {Both get to their knees in a 
frantic, childish effort to save some of the sugar.) 

Curtain. 



* Salt will be best to use; it's cheaper and heavier. 



Macbeth a la Mode 

By WALTER BEN HARE. 

Price, 25 Cents 

School burletta in 3 acts; 7 males, 7 females, also teachers, 
students, etc., with only a few lines. Time, IVt liours. No scenery 
required, merely a front curtain and an easel witli placards an- 
nouncing scenes. Plot: Willie Macbetli is the social leader of the 
Senior Class. With liis friend Banquo he encounters Three 
Witches, who prophecy tiiat lie will pass his examinations, be 
elected to a class office and will play on the football team. The 
first two prophecies come true and in Act II, Lady Macbeth, his 
mother, arranges for him to play on the football team, by drugging 
the captain. Macbeth flies to tlie witches for further advice and 
learns that he will make a touchdown. He does, but runs witli 
the ball toward the enemy's goal, thus losing the game for his 
own teaiu. Contains five songs: "Fairwell, My Fairy Fay," 
"Tact," "The Senior Class," "Music and Laughter" and "Good 
Night," all sung to college airs. This play is very humorous and 
particularly adapted for schools. 

THE WITCHES' CHANT 



Round about the cauldron go; 

Matliematics you must know. 

Let X equal the cold stone. 

When will Y be thirty-one? 

Drop that in tlie mystic pan; 

Tell me, pray, how old is Ann? 

Double, double, boil and bubble, 

Matliematics makes them trou- 
ble. 

Fillet of a fenny snake. 

In the cauldron boil and bake; 

Eye of newt and toe of frog. 

Wool of bat and tongue of dog, 

Biology makes 'em cut and jab. 

Thirteen hours a week in lab. 

Latin. Greek and German, too. 

Fifty pages make a stew. 

And to thicken up the mystery. 

Take two chapters English His- 
tory. 

Pliysics, French and English Lit, 



Spend an hour on each or git. 
All night long from six to three. 
Study math and chemistry. 
In the hours when you should 

dream. 
Write an English twelve-page 

theme. 
Work at night and Sunday, too. 
Outside reading you must do. 
Next day, when you're on the 

bunk. 
Teacher springs exam — you 

flunk. 
Douljle, double, boil and bubble. 
High school life is full of trouble. 
Cool it with a Freshman's blood. 
Then the charm is thick and 

good. 
By the pricking of my thumbs. 
Something wicked this way 

comes. 



Reminiscences of the Donation Party 

By JESSIE A. KELLEY. 

Price, 25 Cents 

The soliloquy of a minister's wife, with tableaux. For 40 or 
more characters, both sexes, although the number is optional and 
It can be presented with a smaller cast. Time, about 35 minutes. 
The wife at the side of the stage recounts the many amusing 
incidents of the party, tells who attended and what they brought, 
etc. The characters appear in pantomime. This entertainment is 
unique. It fills the demand for something that can be put on "at 
the last moment." It eliminates the usual long preparations re- 
quired in producing a play; no parts to memorize and it can be 
played on any platform. Highly humorous, replete with local hits 
and strongly recommended for church societies. 

T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 

154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 



The Thread of Destiny 

By LINDSEY BARBEE. 
Price, 25 Cents 

Comedy-drama of the Civil War in 3 acts; 9 males, 16 females. 
Time, ly^ hours. Scenes: 1 interior, 2 exteriors. Characters: 
Peyton Bailey, of the U. S. army. Beverly Montgomery, a con- 
federate scout. Colonel Montgomery, a gentleman of tlie old school. 
Tom Randolph, a Southern gallant, .lohn Morton, of the North. 
Ralpli, who did not go to war. George and Uncle Billy, slaves. 
A Union Scout. Virginia, the toast of tiie country. Bett.v, tlie 
"Little Colonel." Edith, a northern cousin. Louise, a spy. Eiglit 
charming southern girls. Mrs. Montgomery. Miss Melissy, of in- 
quisitive nature. Fanny and Mammy, slaves. 
SYNOPSIS. 

Act I. — Betty breaks a loolcing glass. Edith calms her fears 
and tells her "the signs of tlie times." "Virginia has seceded." 
Beverly enlists. "A Virginia woman does not even recognize an 
acciuaintance among the enemies of Virginia." 

Act II. — "I don' wan" no tarnished silber linin' to my cloud." 
"There are some things more precious than money, than jewels." 
"Death cannot conquer love — nor eternity." "Some day there will 
be no North, no Soutli, taut tlie Union." The Union scout falls a 
prey to Editli's fascinations and lier cleverness wins the coveted 
dispatch. Virginia opens the door — to Pej-ton. Beverly is dis- 
covered. Friendship proves stronger than duty. 

Act III. — Tliree years worlv a great change. Peyton pleads in 
vain. George and Fanny "take de road to de Ian' of happiness." 
"In our little circle the stars and bars are floating high." Virginia 
gives Peyton anotlier rose and together they trace against the 
background of blue and gray "the golden tliread of destiny." 



Shadows 



By MARY MONCURE PARKER. 
Price, 15 Cents 

Play of the Soutli today and a dream of the past in 1 act; 
an interior scene; 3 males, 4 females. Time, 35 minutes. Charac- 
ters: Prologue and the Awakening: Robert Ashton, Virginia's 
sweetlieart. Aunt Geranium, an old colored mammy. Virginia Lee, 
a southern maid. The Dream: Gordon Sanford, a soldier in love 
with Alice. Harold Hale, the successful rival. Mrs. Horace 
Fairfax, a stern motlier of long ago. Alice Fairfax, her dutiful 
daughter. STORY OF THE PLAY. 

Virginia Lee's mother insists upon her marriage with a rich 
suitor, who has agreed to restore tlieir impoverislied estate. Vir- 
ginia has a sweetheart of her childhood days and hesitates in 
making a choice, but finally decides upon wealth instead of love. 
An old colored mammy, who has spent her life in the Lee house- 
hold, understands the situation and tells Virginia of a similar 
episode in the life of Virginia's grandmother. Virginia in ponder- 
ing over tlie incident and grieving over her own troubles, falls 
asleep. She dreams of the story just told and the dream folks 
appear and play their parts. Virginia awakens, the shadows flee 
and she comes to her senses and lier lover. 

The old colored mammy says: "Dis lieah ole whorl's jes' full 
of sliadders. Fokes comes an' dey goes, ripens and drops like the 
fruit on de tree. Ole Mars is gone, old Mistis gone. De substance 
melts and fades away. Ain't nothing left but shadders." 

T. S. DENISON &, COMPANY, Publishers 

154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 



DENISON'S ACTING PLAYS 

Price IS Cents Each, Postpaid, Unless Different Price Is Given 



Winning Widow, 2 acts, VA hrs. 

(2Sc) 2 4 

Women Who Did. 1 hr. . . (25c) 17 
Yankee Detective, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 8 3 

FARCES, COiWEOIETAS. Etc. 

All on a Summer's Day, 40 min. 4 6 

April Fools, 30 min 3 

Assessor, The, 10 min 3 2 

Baby Show at Pineville, 20 min. 19 
Billy's Chorus Girl, 25 min... 2 3 
Billy's Mishap, 20 min........ 2 3 

Borrowed Luncheon, 20 min.. 5 
Borrowing Trouble, 20 min.... 3 5 

Case Against Casey, 40 min... 23 

Country Justice, 15 min 8 

Cow that Kicked Chicago, 20 m. 3 2 

Divided Attentions, 35 min 1 4 

Dude in a Cyclone, 20 min..,. 4 2 

Family Strike, 20 min 3 3 

First-Class Hotel, 20 min..;. 4 
For Love and Honor, 20 min.. 2 1 
Fudge and a Burglar, 15 min.. 5 
Fun in Photo Gallery, 30 min.. 6 la 
Great Medical Dispensary, 30 m. 6 
Great Pumpkin Case, 30 min.. 12 
Hans Von Smash, 30 min.... 4 3 
I'm Not Mesilf at All. 25 min. 3 2 
Initiating a Granger, 25 min.. 8 
Irish Linen Peddler, 40 min... 3 3 
Is the Editor In? 20 min... 4 2 
Kansas Immigrants, 20 min... 5 1 

Men Not Wanted. 30 min 8 

Mike Donovan's Courtship, 15 m. 1 3 
Mother Goose's Goslings, 30 m. 7 9 
Mrs. Jenkins' Brilliant Idea, 3Sm. 8 
Mrs. Stubbins' Book Agent, 30 m. 3 2 

My Wife's Relations, 1 hr 4 6 

Not a Man in the House, 40 m. 5 

Pair of Lunatics, 20 min 1 1 

Patsy O'Wang, 35 min 4 3 

Pat, the Apothecary. 35 min;. 6 2 
Persecuted Dutchman, 30 min. 6 3 

Regular Fix, 35 min 6 4 

Second Childhood, IS min 2 2 

Shadows, 35 min 2 2 

Sing a Song of Seniors, 30 min. 7 
Taking Father's Place, 30 min. 5 3 

Taming a Tiger, 30 min 3 

That Rascal Pat. 30 min 3 2 

Those Red Envelopes, 25 min. 4 4 
Too Much of a Good Thing, 45 

min 3 6 

Turn Him Out, 35 min 3 2 

Two Aunts and a Photo, 20 m. 4 
Two Gentlemen in a Fix. IS m. 2 
Two Ghosts in White. 20 min.. 8 

Two of a Kind, 40 min 2 3 

Uncle Dick's Mistake, 20 min.. 3 2 
Wanted a Correspondent. 45 m. 4 4 
Wanted a Hero, 20 min 1 1 



M. F. 

Wide Enough for Two, 45 min. 5 2 

Wrorig Baby, 25 min 8 

Yankee Peddler, 1 hr 7 3 

VAUDEVILLE SKETCHES. MON- 
OLOGUES, ETHIOPIAN PLAYS. 

Ax'in' Her Father, 25 min.... 2 3 
Booster Club of Blackville, 25 m.lO 
Breakfast Food for Two, 20 m. 1 1 

Cold Finish, 15 min 2 1 

Colored Honeymoon, 25 min... 2 2 
Coon Creek Courtship, 15 min. 1 1 

Coming Champion, 20 min 2 

Coontown Thirteen Club, 25 m. 14 

Counterfeit Bills, 20 min 1 1 

Darktown Fire Brigade, 25 min.lO 
Doings of a Dude. 20 min.... 2 1 

Dutch Cocktail. 20 min 2 

For Reform, 20 min 4 

Fresh Timothy Hay, 20 min.. 2 1 
Glickman, the Glazier, 25 min. 1 1 
Good Momin' Judge, 35 min.. 9 2 

Her Hero, 20 min 1 1 

Hey, Rube ! 1 5 min 1 

Home Run, 15 min 1 1 

{umbo Jum, 30 min 4 3 
.ittle Red School House. 20 m. 4 

Love and Lather, 35 min 3 2 

Marriage and After, 10 min.. 1 

Memphis Mose. 25 min 5 1 

Mischievous Nigger, 25 min.. 4 2 

Mistaken Miss, 20 min 1 1 

Mr. and Mrs. Fido, 20 min 1 1 

Oh, Doctor! 30 min 6 2 

One Sweetheart for Two, 20 m. 2 
Oshkosh Next Week, 20 min . . 4 

Oyster Stew, 10 min 2 

Pete Yansen's Curl's Moder, 10m. 1 

Pickles for Two, 15 min 2 

Pooh Bah of Peacetown, 35 min. 2, 2 
Prof. Black's Funnygraph, 15 m. 6 

Sham Doctor, 10 min 4 2 

Si and I. IS min 1 

Speciarl Sale, 15 min 2 

Stage Struck Darky, 10 min.. 2 1 
Sunny Son of Italy. IS min.. 1 

Time Table. 20 min 1 1 

Tramp and the Actress. 20 mjn. 1 1 
Troubled by Ghosts. 10 min... 4 
Troubles of Rozinski, 15 min.. 1 
Two Jay Detectives, 1 5 itiin . . 3 

Umbrella Mender, IS min 2 

Uncle Jeff. 25 min 5 2 

What Happened to Hannah. 15m. 1 1 



A great number of 

Standard and Amateur Plays 

not found here are listed In 

Denison's CataioEue 



T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers, 1 54 W. Randolph St. , Chicago 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



\ ~~ 016 102 609 8 9\ 

POPULAR ENTERTAINmnNi isuUKb 

Price, Illustrated Paper Covers, 25 cents each 







IN this Series 
are found 
Looks touching 
every feature 
in the enter- 
tainment field. 
Finely made, 
good paper, 
clear print and 
each book has 
an attractive 
individual cov- 
er design. 



A Partial Lut 

DIALOGUES 

All Sorts of Dialogues. 

Selected, fine for older pupils. 
Catchy Comic Dialogues. 

Very clever; for young people. 
Children's Comic Dialogues. 

From six to eleven years of age. 
Country School Dialogues. 

Brand new, original.. 
Dialogues for District Schools. 

For country schools. 
Dialogues from Dickens. 

Thirteen selections. 
The Friday Afternoon Dialogues. 

Over 50,000 copies sold. 
From Tots to Teens. 

Dialogues and recitations. 
Humorous Homespun Dialogues. 

For older ones. 
Little People's Plays. 

From 7 to 13 years of age. 
Lively Dialogues. 

For all ages; mostly humorous. 
IVIerry Little Dialogues. 

Thirty-eight original selections. 
When the Lessons are Over. 

Dialogues, drills, plays. 
Wide Awake Dialogues. 

Original successful. 

SPEAKERS, MONOLOGUES 

Choice Pieces for Little People. 

A child's speaker. 
The Comic Entertainer. 

Recitations, monologues, dialogue^;. 
Dialect Readings. 

Irish, Dutch, Negro, Scotch, etc. 
The Favorite Speaker. 

Choice prose and poetry. 
The Friday Afternoon Speaker. 

For pupils of. all ages. 
Humorous IVIonologues. 

Particularly for ladies. 
Monologues for Young Folks. 

Clever, humorous, original. 



Monologues Grave and Gay. 

Dramatic and humorous. 
Scrap- Book Recitations. 

Choice collections, pathetic, -hu- 
morous, descriptive, prose, 
poetry. 15 Nos., per No. 25c 

DRILLS 

The Best Drill Book. 

Very popular drills and marches. 
The Favorite Book of Drills. 

Drills that sparkle with originality. 
Little Plays With Drills. 

For children from 6 to 11 years. ■ 
The Surprise Drill Book. 

Fresh, novel, drills and marches. 

SPECIALTIES 

The Boys' Entertainer. 

Monologues, dialogues, drills. 
Children's Party Book. 

Invitations, decorations, garties. 
The Days We Celebrate. 

Entertainments for all the holidays. 
Good Things for Christmas. 

Recitations, dialogues, drills. 
Good Things for Sunday Schools. 

Dialogues, exercises, recitations. 
Good Things for Thanksgiving. 

A gem of a book. 
Good Things for Washington 

and Lincoln Birthdays. 
Little Folks' Budget. 

Easy pieces to speak, songs. 
One Hundred Entertainments. 

New parlor diversions, socials. 
Patriotic Celebrations. 

Great 'variety of material. 
Pictured Readings and Tableaux. 

Entirely original features. 
Pranks and Pastimes. 

Parlor games for children. 
Private Theatricals. 

How to put on plays. 
Shadow Pictures, Pantomimes^ 

Charades, and how to prepare. 
Tableaux arid Scenic Readings. 

New and novel; for all ages. 
Twinkling Fingers and Sway- 
ing Figures. For little tots. 
Yuletide Entertainments. 

A choice Christmas collection. 

MINSTRELS, JOKES 

Black American Joker. 

Minstrels' anil end men's gags 
A Bundle of Burnt Cork Comedy. 

Monologues, stump speeches, etc. 
Laughiand.vfa the Ha-Ha Route. 

A merry trip for fun tourists. 
Negro Minstrels. 

.Ml about the business. 
The New Jolly Jester. 

Funny stories, iokps, Rags, etc. 

Large Illustrated Catalogue Free 



T.S. DENISON & COMPANY,l>ublishers,154W. Randolph St. , Chicago 



